Chapter 23: Ashtaroth

T he little lamb is worrying herself into exhaustion as I carry her to my rooms.

I don't see the problem – I believe I showed remarkable restraint when taking her this first time. She will need to get accustomed to the rougher play that pleases me: moans of pain, the flush of humiliation… my prick twitches inside her as I imagine her crying while tied open and left at the brink of release for hours. Her breath catches enticingly and I grin.

And while I do understand that being fucked and fed from with an entire demonic court in attendance is probably not the fantasy of the average mortal woman, I did not share her with them. I did not throw her into the gathered crowd after my release for them to use.

I growl at the thought of the rest of my court's spend leaking out of her available holes. Never before have I kept a bed partner for myself. In fact, I am tempted to make Sariel spend the night in the dungeons for merely being close enough to smell her arousal. What is it about this little Nephalem?

We reach my wing and I carry her to my bedroom. Even I must rest occasionally, at least as long as I maintain a corporeal form. I have never let anyone else touch my bed though; the thought always disgusted me. Not feeling any revulsion over my new belonging being the first, I turn toward it so I can lay her down.

I am far too old to dither over my feelings and question my motivations – taking her tonight showed me that I am far from done with her. I want to do every depraved thing I can think of to her – some of them in this bed.

As I lift her off my cock, a rush of wetness spills from between her legs to pour over mine and onto the floor. I growl and reluctantly place her on the mattress. She curls into herself and I cover her with a heavy blanket despite the warm air permeating my domain. The way she shivers now is not pleasing to me.

And no, I will not clean our mutual spend – I was not jesting when I told her that she is to be a vessel for my come at all times. I have an unusual thought then – of breeding her until she is swollen with my child, of having her birth me many children, a legacy for me. The fantasy makes me grab hold of my still-wet prick and stroke it. I shake my head trying to make sense of these notions.

I may have even had children over the eons, though if I did, it was never brought to my attention. I certainly did not raise any as my own. I never cared about descendants. The thought of having them with an Elioud is laughable. They would still be merely Cambion, though perhaps far stronger than most.

I release my member and turn to the bathing quarters, resisting the urge to make her clean it with her mouth.

By the time I return her breathing is deep and even. She is asleep. Being unaccustomed to sleeping next to anyone, I instead grab my robes and head out towards my throne room – there is always work to do when you are a ruler of Hell.

Knowing my lamb is confined to my bedchamber, her warm body available for my use at my whim, my spirits are better than I can recall them being in untold years.

I am nearly at my throne as I sense a presence behind me.

"I didn't know your face could do that."

Why can't I have a few hours without my son hounding my steps?

"What?" I growl.

"Smile when you're not torturing offenders," he replies with a smirk.

I have decided now – he will spend the night in the dungeons again.

"Wait!" he interjects, sensing my intentions out of centuries of habit.

"What?" I repeat, looking at him.

"The Fallen. I imagine her team member that Naamah, uh… occupied, will be returning to Abaddon at any moment. If you're keeping the girl here, you should prepare."

He is correct and I do have a plan, but perhaps I should set it in motion earlier than I intended.

"I will have a message sent to Maalik, assuring him that she will be mostly undamaged."

"Good," he breathes. "Would be a shame if that delicious-looking sna–"

His screams interrupt him as he plummets down to the cells under my throne room.